


dirty little secret

by sylviadraft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, fancy parties, high society the whole thing, the jonsa is pretty minor, this is mostly an excuse for hatesex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylviadraft/pseuds/sylviadraft
Summary: Myranda is an independent woman. She’s never been in a romantic relationship because she doesn’t want a romantic relationship. The constant breakups and makeups that plague Sansa’s life fill Myranda with a sense of dread. Men can be fun, for like, a week, and then they get boring and needy, it’s disgusting.Which is why this...thingshe has for Harry Hardyng is so embarrassing.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng/Myranda Royce
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	dirty little secret

**Author's Note:**

> look, I don't even know what this is. I've never written smut before, I think there are maybe three people who ship this, please don't judge me too harshly.

By all intents and definitions of the term, Myranda is an independent woman. She’s never been in a romantic relationship because she doesn’t want a romantic relationship. The constant breakups and makeups that plague Sansa’s life fill Myranda with a sense of dread. Men can be fun, for like, a week, and then they get _boring_ and _needy_ , it’s disgusting. 

Which is why this... _thing_ she has for Harry Hardyng is so embarrassing. 

Logically, it’s not her fault. They grew up in the same circles, and he was there while she was going through puberty, he was just the boy she latched onto. And then he had the audacity to actually be attractive as an adult, which only served to further her adolescence ideas about him. It’s psychology, Myranda should know, she took a class in college. Besides, she spends just as much time wanting to murder him. They have an on and off relationships of sorts, where “on” is vague acknowledgement and “off” is hour long screaming matches. This is lust and a teenage fantasy, nothing more. 

That (flimsy) justification doesn’t help whenever she sees him around and then spends the next three weeks wondering if he’d fuck her into the mattress or she’d tie him up and oh God here we go again. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad, really. Despite living in the same city she’d only seen him twice in the last year. She’s an adult now and her parents can’t drag her to all of those stuffy fundraisers anymore. Without those high society engagements, Harry Hardyng had practically become a stranger to her. They didn’t acknowledge each other in the grocery store, and they _certainly_ didn’t make eye contact at parties. In fact, Myranda had started referring to him as “Harry Hardyng” in her mind instead of just “Harry”. Because, she knew other Harrys, more _important_ Harrys. That’s how cut off she was from the man. 

And then he showed up in her kitchen, shirtless. 

It was unfair, it was unbelievable, it was downright _cruel_. Of all the people Harry Hardyng could date he ends up with Sansa? Her fucking roommate? The one person on the planet that she shares a bedroom wall with? 

Unsurprisingly, Myranda and Harry’s relationship moved into “antagonistic” mode almost immediately. For one, Myranda had a reputation to uphold, she had vocally hated all of Sansa’s love interest before and she wasn’t going to change that on account of Harry fucking Hardyng. For another, Harry was, in all honesty, kind of an asshole. It hadn’t been a problem when Harry was nothing more than an acquaintance-slash-sexual fantasy-slash-the guy you make fun of old rich guys with. But things were different now, Harry is dating one of her best friends.

Correction: _was_ dating one of her best friends, if the _very_ naked Jon Snow on her living room couch is anything to go by. 

“Uh Sansa?”

A pause. 

“...yes?” Sansa’s voice comes from behind the couch (under Jon).

“Can I speak with you in the other room, please.” Sansa appeared, red faced and wrapped in a blanket that only three weeks ago the redhead had insisted was “for decoration only, Myranda.” 

“So?” Myranda asks once they shut themselves in the kitchen, out of Jon’s hearing. 

“So.” Sansa replies, suddenly defensive. 

“I think we need to discuss the fact that Jon Snow is _naked_ on my leather couch. I thought you already had a boyfriend?”

“Harry and I broke up.” 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Myrandaaaa,” Sansa whines, “I was kind of in the middle of something. Can we talk about this later?” 

Oh. Right. Maybe Myranda was in the wrong here. 

“Can you at least move it out of the living room?” 

Sansa grins, even while her face turns a deeper shade of red. She kisses Myranda on the cheek (don’t think about where her mouth might’ve been, don’t think about-), and practically _skips_ out of the kitchen. 

Here we go again.

* * *

It is so much worse than Myranda ever thought it could be. 

Jon and Sansa are like...in love. Jon is over all the time, buying Sansa gifts, taking her on romantic adventures, cooking her dinners. The apartment has turned into a goddamn honeymoon suite. It’s obnoxious, it’s annoying, Myranda wants it so badly. 

Honestly the ooey gooey love stuff isn’t even the worst, Myranda knows that she could live with that. For some reason, her mind has decided that actually, she’s sick of being independent. In fact, she’s actually desperately lonely. Her, Myranda Royce, _lonely_ , as if. And since her mind has apparently decided to stop functioning properly, it has decided that the best person to attach all of these romantic desires onto, is none other than Harry Hardyng.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that Myranda had to go through three months of her blondest sexual fantasy, laze about her apartment in various states of undress, while never actually getting to sleep with him. And it’s not fair that Sansa, who did get to sleep with said blond heartthrob, is now with Jon. Jon, who seems to have been strategically engineered as God’s gift to women based on the noises coming from their shared wall. 

Deep down, Myranda knows that there is no one in the world who deserves this more than Sansa. Jon is good and kind, while most of Sansa’s past romantic partners have been the exact opposite. She is happy because Sansa is happy, Myranda just misses her friend (and her space). This...loneliness is just because she hasn’t gotten laid in awhile, it has nothing to do with Sansa and Jon. 

So when Myranda accepts an invitation to one of her mother’s expensive parties masquerading as a fundraiser, it’s not because she wants to get out of the apartment. It’s because there will be men there. Rich, older men, who won’t mind if she doesn’t call back in the morning. It’s exactly what she needs to get out of this mood. 

Her dress is a hair too tight and cut an inch too low for this sort of event, but her mother should be grateful she even came to this thing. It’s the response on Myranda’s lips when her mother calls her over to the table, a disapproving look in her eye. 

“I need you to be on your best behavior tonight.” Her mother hisses into her ear, manicured fingers wrapped around Myranda’s upper arm like she’s a child again. 

“I’m always on my best behavior.” She’s not, but Myranda is offended by her mother’s comment all the same. 

“Harrold Hardyng is here.”

“Fuck me.”

“Myranda Royce!”

That’s the worst thing about all of this. Her fucking _mother_ knows about her feelings about “Harrold Hardyng”. When they were younger, she and Harry caused a number of scenes at a _number_ of dinner parties. She had actually swung on him in the middle of their eighth grade graduation dinner. (Now why they even needed a party for that in the first place is a question best left unasked in the presence of Myranda’s mother.)

“Don’t worry mother, I’ll be sure to take the screaming match out back, we wouldn’t want to upset the donors after all.”

“Myranda...” It’s a warning but Myranda can’t bring herself to care. She stalks off towards the bar, there’s no way she’s going to survive Harry and her mother’s bullshit sober. 

The whiskey burns going down, but she orders a second shot anyway. Her mother’s laugh, bright and loud and fake, filters across the ballroom. Somewhere a string quartet starts up, adding to the noise. 

“Still think the money used to rent the ballroom would’ve done more good for the orphans or whoever it is we are here for.” Myranda remarks to the bartender, who stifles a laugh. He’s cute, not exactly what she was looking for tonight, but he’ll do in a pinch. 

“Royce.” Goddamn-

“Harrold,” She turns smoothly, catching a glimpse of his grimace at the use of his full name. 

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?” Myranda sips her whiskey. She shouldn’t be teasing him like this, it’s mean for one and she also doesn’t know exactly how upset he is. Or what it is he is upset about the first place. 

Across the room Myranda’s mother is glaring at her, a warning clear in her eyes. Myranda just sighs deeply, draining the last of her whiskey before grabbing her purse. 

“Well,” She pushes off of the bar, “My mother will skin me alive if we do this here. Let’s go.”

At the mention of _Mrs. Royce_ Harry pales. Myranda knows from past experience that Harry is warry (read: terrified) of her mother. So when Myranda takes his hand and moves to pull him out of the ballroom, Harry goes willingly. It takes a few minutes for Harry to remember what he was so upset about and by that time they have moved far enough that any...discussions will be well out of earshot. 

“I know this is your fault!” He stops suddenly, pulling Myranda around to face him. 

“ _What_ is my fault Harry?” She sounds exasperated, she _is_ exasperated. 

“Sansa broke up with me.” 

“Yes I figured that out. Why are you mad at me?” 

“Because...it’s your fault.” Harry seems unsure now, his shoulders drop slightly. “I know it’s your fault! What did you tell her?” 

“Listen _hotshot_ , I didn’t even know you broke up until Jon Snow showed up half naked on my couch. I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. Trust me, as much as I would like to take credit for your broken heart-”

“I don’t like your tone.” He shoves a finger towards her. 

“Well I don’t like you!” She steps into his space, not realizing how close they’ve grown together. 

“Oh please Myranda, we both know that’s not true.” He is smirking now, which only serves to make Myranda upset.

“Now I really don’t know what you are talking about!” 

“No?”

“No!” 

“Well,” He steps even closer, “I think you like me.”

“Like you?” She tries to her voice indigent, “How could I _like_ you, you’re a total prick!”

“And you’re a total bitch.” He says casually. Is he _flirting_? Is this how Harry Hardyng flirts? And is it working?

“Take it back,” She steps closer once again, they are face to face now, barely a breath apart. 

“Make me.” 

She pushes him, not _hard_ , but he stumbles back into the wall. And then for some reason she is kissing him, and he’s kissing back. 

“ _Fuck_ Myranda,” He breathes out, stepping back and taking her hand. Now he’s the one pulling her down the hallway and into some single stalled service bathroom. She hears the lock click. Is this happening? This is happening. 

Harry spins her so she’s facing the mirror, pulling her dark hair over her shoulder and pressing open mouthed kisses into her neck. It’s hot, but she’s not about to let Harry Hardyng bend her over a bathroom counter. She pushes back with her hips and turns around, pulling herself onto the counter so she’s facing him. 

“You’re gonna look at me while you fuck me.” 

Harry swears again, and Myranda wraps her legs around his waist to pull him back towards her. She tangles her hands in his mousy brown hair and pulls, and Harry _moans_ in response. A strangled sound deep in his chest that causes Myranda’s heart to speed up. 

Then his hands are traveling down, he pulls the strip of black lace up, and she tries to catch the high sound of pleasure in her throat. Harry’s pulling the lace down her thighs, with a wicked look in his eyes. 

“You can’t keep those,” The underwear catches on her heels, and Harry pulls those off as well, chucking them backwards. 

“Not even if I’m _very good_ Lady Royce?” His pouting eyes clash with the smirk he’s still wearing, and his words only intensify the heat building in her stomach. 

She’s about to make some snappy comeback, but Harry is stepping between her thighs, and his mouth is on her neck, and his fingers are on her clit and suddenly there are more important things to think about. 

“Harry...Harry...I want...”

“Say it, say it Myranda,”

“Fuck me,” 

It’s all the confirmation he needs, he’s pulling a condom out of his pocket, _”Were you planning on getting lucky tonight?” “It’s always good to be prepared.”_ , he enters her slowly before speeding up. 

His breath is warm on her neck and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard anything as hot as the way Harry says her name. Low and breathless and practically _begging_. She’s close and Harry can apparently tell as he moves even faster. She comes, with a high moan ripping its way out of her throat. Harry follows soon after, collapsing into her shoulder and shouting her name. 

Harry pulls out, and Myranda leans back against the mirror. They stay like that a moment, Harry’s head on her shoulder, until her breathing slows to its normal rate. He steps backwards and Myranda uses the space to sit up and readjust her dress, which had become terribly misshapen during the whole affair. 

Harry is off looking for her shoes, and her feet brush against the cold tile. Realization sets in.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.” Don’t let your voice shake Myranda, don’t think about what you just did. 

“Like you aren’t gonna tell anyone.” He’s smirking, he’s fucking _smirking_. Does he not realize? He’s Sansa’s ex, she just fucked Sansa’s ex. 

“Harry I’m serious.” That makes him stop. He’s found her shoes, the straps dangling oh so delicately on his fingers. Harry’s face softens for a moment, and Myranda doesn’t think she’s even seen him look at anyone like that before. It’s gone as quickly as it came, and a smile takes its place. 

“Don’t worry Royce,” He’s beside her again, her shoes are discarded on the floor. Harry’s hands move towards her face and with a start she realizes he’s pinning a loose piece of her hair back. “I’ve always wanted to be your dirty little secret.”


End file.
